The storm had been raging for only a few hours when we first saw the Spanish ship. Through the haze of the rain she was difficult to follow, but the Spanish sails were hard to mistake. With the gale, I, the pilot, was doing all I could to keep afloat, let alone on course.

For three days we battled the winds. I guessed we were somewhere north of the 15th parallel near the Lesser Antilles, but until the storm cleared somewhat none of us could be sure. Through it all, we still could spot the Spanish ship. Sometimes she was closer, sometimes further away, but each sighting was tapping us on the shoulder to remind us she was there. On the third day, we thought we had lost our shadow. This was not the case.

One moment she loomed above us tauntingly. As if to torment us, the winds carried the sound of their command - "Presente!" The next swell found her broadside - "Fuego!" I, standing on the quarterdeck witnessed a great and terrible vision. The Captain flew into the air, transported by the demonic cannon of the Spanish ship and leaving only his shoes still in place on the deck. The next swell took the Spaniard out of our view, never to be seen again.

The ensuing chaos could have been devistating, but Mr. O’Harrigan, the first mate, stepped forward and took control. Mr. Hammer and I followed his lead. By the time the storm had settled, O’Harrigan was Captain, Hammer was First Mate and Gunnery Captain, I the Quartermaster. In the relative calm after the storm, we decided to make for the port of St. Thomas for repairs. As we searched the Captain’s stores for the ship’s fund, we found more than we expected. Hidden with the cache of Pieces of Eight we found a Letter of Marque and Reprisal and the ship’s papers.

The crew had a new goal. We would repay the Spanish dogs in kind. As if to emphasis our new quest O’Harrigan nailed our former Captain’s shoes to the deck where they stood, both for luck and as a reminder to all.